


grinding it out

by hardlythewiser (sequinedfairy)



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 04:38:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10983534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sequinedfairy/pseuds/hardlythewiser
Summary: "Try and dress sexy, like, black leather boat shoe, not tan leather. I’ll text you the address."





	grinding it out

**Author's Note:**

> a million thanks to [nahco3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nahco3/pseuds/nahco3), whose [LA Hallucinations](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10925949) this fic owes a huge debt to, especially in its tommy, and who gave one trillion wonderful comments, and [threeturn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/threeturn/pseuds/threeturn), who made this whole fic have a coherent emotional structure and plot and makes me a better writer. so grateful for both of them. [here](https://veryspecificfantasies.tumblr.com/post/160859557094/may-i-have-this-dance-sexy-bittersweet) is my playlist for this fic if u'd be interested.
> 
> also, keep it secret keep it safe!

The ocean wind is just a little past cool as Tommy and Lovett stand at the edge of the ocean, looking at the moon reflecting on the water. Lovett lost his jacket ages ago, right after Favs and Emily’s first dance, when he stripped it off and dragged Tommy onto the dance floor, making Tommy hold one of his two champagne glasses but promise not to drink it. He’s draped in Tommy’s now, and Tommy’s got his sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened, a few buttons undone from where Lovett, wasted, leaned over and told him that his pecs were about to rip out of his shirt like the Hulk. Tommy stopped to carefully roll up his pants before walking to the edge of the sand, while Lovett kicked his shoes and socks off and shoved his cuffs up on the way to touch the water. His pants are falling down now, getting a little wet from the lapping waves, but Lovett doesn’t seem to mind.

Weddings always make Tommy feel weird, ever since he didn’t make it down the aisle. Emily was stunningly beautiful, and Favs was like a Disney prince, couldn’t stop looking at her and smiling, awed. Tommy made sure things happened in the right order, gave Favs a slap and shake when he was freaking out before standing at the altar, rescued Lovett from a conversation that was heading towards abortion with one of Favs’ aunts. Lovett made everyone laugh and had a new glass of champagne every time Tommy looked over, which was pretty often.

Tommy thinks about the line from his Headspace this morning, about visualizing all your desires floating away from your body, letting go of them until they aren’t even connected to you anymore. But Lovett next to him is like a magnet, warping all Tommy’s desires so that as hard as he tries to let go of them, they just wrap around Lovett and return to Tommy. 

“I think the problem,” Lovett announces suddenly, eyes still on the horizon where two slightly different blacks meet, “is that I’d rather cut off my own hand then date someone.”

Tommy laughs, even though he knows it’s not really a joke. “That could be a problem,” he agrees. 

“Like, I’m old,” Lovett says, winding himself up. “I’m too old to meet and care about new people. I have, like, seven people I like and want to spend time with, and that’s my dating pool, and most of them are already committed. I last dated when I was young enough to meet someone and like them and I just spent five years of my life on airplanes and now I’m more single than ever and too old to meet anyone for sex, let alone to date.”

“Seven people you like and want to spend time with? I have, like, three,” Tommy says. Lovett’s looking at him, a little desperate, stressing out about his breakup. “Are you counting Pundit?”

Lovett laughs. “Obviously I’m counting Pundit, she’s number one. But she’s committed to that pitbull around the corner, it’s like fucking Romeo and Juliet, I hate her owner so much.”

Tommy laughs, and they’re quiet again for a second. The water laps at Tommy’s ankles, and his heels sink farther into the sand. “It’s kinda lonely, sometimes, huh?” Tommy asks.

“Yeah,” Lovett says, soft.

“But I think it’s worth it. To find someone you really always want to be around,” Tommy says. He can feel his cheeks pinking, but it’s dark enough that Lovett probably can’t see it.

“Well, I’ve found that,” Lovett says. Tommy looks at him, just for a second, and after what feels like an eternity Lovett says, “Pundit.”

They walk back to the hotel little while later, holding their shoes in their hands, Lovett stopping sometimes to pick up a particularly nice seashell he tucks into his pockets until they’re bulging. Lying in bed that night, Tommy can’t stop thinking about Lovett’s pause after he said that he’d found that, the way he consciously didn’t look over but his body tilted a little towards Tommy. He thinks, what if.

***

Tommy’s sitting on his bed, commentary about the Red Sox game he just watched playing from his bedroom TV, scrolling through Twitter and replying to people with BENGHAZI or PATRIOT in their handles. LA is hot, hotter than San Francisco ever got, and even with the AC on Tommy can feel the heat leaching in. He’s trying to work up the energy to start prepping for his PSTW interview, but he feels drained. Favs has been gone all week on his honeymoon, so it was just him and Lovett on the Monday pod, which was fun, of course, but. Tiring, sometimes, without Favs to deflect to.

His phone makes the weird vibration it only makes for WhatsApp messages, and he picks it up, expecting it to be another pic of Favs’ terrible sunburn that he’s been forcing them to look at for days, or a beautiful ocean sunset with a sappy caption. But instead it’s Jon Lovett: _Stop getting in unfunny twitter fights it’s 11pm on a saturday this is just sad_

Tommy huffs out an involuntary laugh. _Youre on twitter seeing my fights how is that not also sad?_ He hasn’t really seen anyone since doing ads with Lovett after Lovett or Leave It last night. Today, he went on a long morning run and did his laundry and watched the game, and human contact, even just a WhatsApp message, feels pathetically good after twenty-four hours of isolation. Especially from Lovett.

_Being incessantly on twitter is part of my brand so it’s charming not sad  
What if someone asked me to rant about something and I didn’t have anything ready because I hadn’t gone through twitter? The respect on both sides would crumble_

_God forbid you lose your status as straight shooter and John Mccain takes the mantle. Probably takes the hat too._

_Exactly!!! He doesn’t deserve it_

Tommy’s smiling down at his phone, SportsCenter forgotten, when it starts vibrating steadily. He answers, a little surprised.

Lovett, as always, doesn’t wait for any semblance of a normal greeting before he launches in. “Honestly, I can’t believe I ever fought for gay marriage, marriage is the worst, gay or straight, we should ban it all.”

“Hi Lovett,” Tommy says. “How are you?”

“Terrible,” Lovett responds immediately. “I haven’t been able to steal Favs’ Postmates dinner all week, I’ve made like three new accounts with the LOVETT code and I think they’re onto me, I just wanted to go out tonight but all my fucking friends here are in serious relationships and bailed to like roleplay filling out adoption paperwork and unloading the dishwasher together or whatever boring gay couples do.”

“Roleplay unloading the dishwasher? Does the actual dishwasher get unloaded, or is it like, strictly in the bedroom?

“I don’t know, I don’t have a long term boyfriend I ditch my friends for when they desperately need to go to a club and get drunk and fuck someone and they made a pact that they wouldn’t re-download Grindr for a full month. How would I know how their sad boring roleplay works?”

Tommy’s laughing, more at Lovett’s indignant tone than anything else. “I’m not in a serious relationship.” It still stings, a little, to say it, but he’s trying to get used to it. He’s single. He’s almost 37 and he’s single again and he’s had a hopeless — whatever for the better part of a decade now, but it’s fine. He has his friends and the pods and he’s going to, in Lovett’s words, rip the gavel out of Paul Ryan’s grubby little paws. 

“Oh, Thomas,” Lovett says. “The clubs where I can manage to pick someone up would not be fun for you. You’d be over six feet of fresh meat and I’d have to save you. I know you hooked up with your Marines in DC sometimes, but a WeHo gay club is worlds away from the hallways of the NSC or wherever you met your speak-softly-and-have-a-big-stick seven-foot-tall uniformed he-men. I don’t wanna put you through that.”

“I don’t mind,” Tommy insists. “I’m going stir-crazy in my house, I’m happy to go anywhere. I can take a Lyft home whenever. It can’t be worse than that Gay Mafia party you dragged me to in 2010 where I walked in on three Republican aides in the same bed.”

“The one where someone was showing off his Thomas Jefferson tattoo? Jesus, that was bad. Okay, fine. Try and dress sexy, like, black leather boat shoe, not tan leather. I’ll text you the address.”

“Black leather boat shoe,” Tommy repeats. “Sure.” Lovett hangs up, and Tommy puts his beer down on the coaster. Things are looking up. He might have to watch Lovett hook up with someone else, but at least he’ll get out of the house.

His phone buzzes again.

Jon Lovett: _Jk just wear your tightest tshirt that’s not politics or sports related_

Tommy digs out a white t-shirt from when he first moved to DC and his mom insisted that he wear undershirts with all his suits. He pulls it on with some jeans, frowns at how sheer it is and how clearly it doesn’t fit his arms, tugs at the neck a little. He sends a picture of himself to Lovett, trying to pretend it’s like taking a picture of a pod shirt for Twitter.

_It’s honestly disgusting how good looking you are. You’re uninvited_

_Thanks?_ Tommy replies. He’s pretty sure there’s a compliment within that text.

_Ugh just meet me at the bar in thirty ___

__Tommy puts his wallet in his back pocket. He pours himself two fingers of whiskey, standing under the fluorescent lights of his empty kitchen. He looks at his blank fridge, no photos or Save-the-Dates or reminders to get more milk like on the fridge he left behind in San Francisco, and pours himself another finger or two. He tries not to think, _I hate my house_ , as he walks out to meet the Lyft. He needs to get a dog. At least then it wouldn’t be so quiet all the time._ _

__The club is hot, dark, and packed. Lovett told him he’d meet him at the bar, so Tommy wades through a sea of mesh and glitter and bare skin to reach it. He settles on a stool at the bar to wait for Lovett, ordering himself a another whiskey and Lovett a mojito. The bartender gives him an obvious once-over, and Tommy flushes. The guy gets him the drinks, leaning over the bar with his hand almost brushing Tommy’s. Tommy smiles at him awkwardly, and the guy leans even closer, reaching out for Tommy’s hand._ _

__“Tommy!” he hears, and turns around gratefully. Lovett’s in a tight black t-shirt, pale biceps a stark contrast, reaching up to loop his arm around Tommy’s neck and pull him down. “I told you you’d be like a piece of meat,” he whispers in Tommy’s ear, but Tommy’s caught on the feel of his warm breath against Tommy’s ear and can’t really respond. When Lovett lets go, Tommy hands him his mojito, a little dazed. Tommy wishes he could kiss him, tell everyone who’s looking that Lovett is taken, Lovett is his, but, Lovett’s not._ _

__The bartender’s down the bar now, flirting with someone else. There’s no second seat, so Tommy ends up giving Lovett his perch on the bar stool and leaning against the bar wedged up against him. Lovett’s feet are on the second rung of the stool, almost dangling, and he’s telling Tommy a long story about his mortal enemy at the dog park, almost shouting over the music. Tommy orders them both a second round, Lovett’s gross sugary rubbing alcohol and a vodka and soda for himself, hands over — Jesus — thirty dollars for the two drinks. Whatever._ _

__Tommy drinks his drink quickly, needing it to handle everything that’s happening, and Lovett’s matching his pace. Lovett’s mouth is red and wet, parted and shadowy in the dim light. Tommy’s getting jostled by people attempting to order, so he’s just inches away from Lovett, Lovett’s elbow on the bar and his hand propping up his chin. Tommy’s hip is pressed up against Lovett’s thigh, and Lovett tilts his head towards him as he gets to the punchline, waiting expectantly for a laugh. Tommy laughs, drops his hand on the edge of Lovett’s stool, thumb brushing his thigh. It’s to steady himself, but also — this seems like a decent time to test the waters. Tommy’s a mess and Lovett knows that all too well, but Lovett’s definitely also looking at Tommy’s chest._ _

__Lovett tracks his face, opens his legs just a tiny bit so his thigh pushes more firmly against Tommy’s thumb. “Were you just gonna sit here talking all night?” Tommy asks. “Doesn’t seem like you need a club for that.”_ _

__Lovett looks offended, and shoves Tommy’s shoulder. “I was trying to make you feel comfortable, dickhead. You looked like you were gonna pass out when the bartender hit on you, I didn’t think you’d be ready for dudes grinding on you. Besides, Pundit could have gotten eaten by this wolf 'dog,' and the owner just laughed! You’re her uncle, you should care.”_ _

__“I think I’m ready to dance,” Tommy says, looking steadily at Lovett. Lovett swallows and chugs his drink as Tommy does the same, then Tommy helps him off the stool. A guy in a gold tank top immediately snags the stool, pushing their empty glasses aside. Lovett starts worming his way through the crowd, confident and brash and not afraid of shoving couples making out aside. There’s the tiniest gap between his shirt and his jeans, the barest hint of his back dimples peeking out.  Tommy grabs his wrist, easily wrapping his fingers around it, because he doesn’t wanna lose him in the crowd. Lovett glances back, eyebrows raised, and then continues plowing through the crowd._ _

__They end up near one edge of the crowd, almost pressed against each other thanks to the nearly-suffocating number of bodies around them. Lovett looks up at him, preemptively smug, as though he’s right and Tommy’s gonna freak out now. He’s such a dumbass, Tommy thinks, but all he can feel is fondness. He smirks back, starting to move to the beat of a tech remix Tommy’s never heard before that makes the floor and his bones vibrate, and Lovett starts moving too, turning back to face away from Tommy again._ _

__Tommy looks at him as best as he can, so close to him in a dark club. His curls are a little mussed, and the back of his neck has a few trails where beads of sweat dropped down to his t-shirt. His shoulders are always surprisingly broad, solid and compact under his shirt, and Tommy wants to feel them beneath his palms._ _

__Tommy steps forward a few inches, so there’s only the tiniest amount of space between their hips, and starts dancing more deliberately, one hand settling naturally onto Lovett’s hip. Lovett stiffens, then relaxes, moving his hips in Tommy’s rhythm, moving ever-so-slowly towards Tommy’s hips. Tommy’s hardly breathing, caught in the spell, worried that if he moves too fast it’ll be broken. Tommy has no fucking idea what he’s doing, but he can’t stop now, not when he can feel Lovett’s ass and his thighs, the warmth of his belly where Tommy’s thumb has slipped under his t-shirt._ _

__Someone striding dramatically through the crowd, loudly yelling at the person following him, shoves into Lovett and makes him stumble. Tommy catches him, ends up with both arms around Lovett, fingers overlapping right over his bellybutton, his thigh between Lovett’s. Lovett’s breath catches, and he’s frozen for a second. Tommy’s about to move away, but after a few seconds that feel like hours, Lovett spreads his legs wider, almost riding Tommy’s thigh._ _

__The music changes to a fucking remix of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” and Tommy can feel Lovett’s laugh against his hands and chest. Lovett tips his head back and Tommy leans his head down so Lovett can reach his ear. “I can’t believe every fucking gay bar on earth has signed a blood oath to play this fucking song at least six times a night with new terrible remixes,” Lovett complains, enunciating carefully so Tommy won’t miss a single part of his joke._ _

__Tommy laughs helplessly, and Lovett makes his I’m-so-funny-love-me face. The combination of the feel of Lovett’s body and his warm, familiar face overwhelms Tommy, leaves him temporarily unable to control himself, and he leans down and kisses Lovett. As soon as he does, Tommy realizes what he just did, and he wonders whether he just ruined everything. But Lovett kisses back, grinding down on Tommy’s thigh, making a little noise when Tommy bites his lip, opening his mouth. Tommy can feel him craning his neck, even as Tommy tries to bend down, so he kisses Lovett’s jaw, moved over to his neck._ _

__It’s been almost fifteen years since Tommy’s made out with someone like this, dirty grinding on a dancefloor, but he’s thought about kissing Lovett for so long that it feels almost natural, not strange like it would if he was kissing someone else. He’s been thinking of it non-stop the past week, the way Lovett smiled at him as they stood at the altar and his serious face looking out at the water, all the ways they could both feel the strings tugging them closer together. Lovett’s a little sweaty when Tommy kisses his neck, makes a soft noise that Tommy can barely hear when Tommy slides a finger below his waistband. Tommy wants to learn everything about him, how he responds to every touch and kiss and bite._ _

__Lovett breaks away for a second, and Tommy can hear the music again. He drags Tommy a few feet over to an alcove, a dark nook only there for hookups. Tommy follows him, and Lovett turns around so he’s face to face with Tommy, loops his arms around his neck, still with a shit-eating grin on his face. Tommy wants to kiss it off, but he always wants it to return. Lovett leans up almost on his tiptoes to kiss Tommy, and Tommy slides his hands down his back to his ass, pulls him more firmly onto his thigh, so Lovett’s barely balanced on the floor._ _

__“Fuck, Tommy,” Lovett giggles. “Hidden talents, huh.”_ _

__“You have no idea,” Tommy promises, rough, groping his ass while Lovett grinds down on him. He’s kissing Lovett again, opening his mouth, still moving in time with the rhythm. Sliding one hand up Tommy’s shirt, Lovett bitches, “You’re so fucking tall, and your stupid shirt.” Tommy kisses him again, gasping softly when Lovett rakes his nails down his back._ _

__They make out for what must be way too long, but when Lovett’s fingers start sliding down the front of Tommy’s pants, Tommy pants, “Fuck, wait,” gathers Lovett’s wrists in his hand._ _

__Lovett tries to escape Tommy’s grip, and asks, “Bathroom?”_ _

__The question hits Tommy in the chest like a brick. Tommy’s been thinking a lot about it, but he’s still not sure he’ll get anything more than one night. If it is only one night,  Tommy doesn’t want only grubby, quick blowjobs to remember. “Bed?” he counters. “No chance of tetanus.”_ _

__Lovett looks a little surprised, scanning over Tommy’s face. He’s still on Tommy’s thigh, so Tommy doesn’t have the brain cells necessary to decipher what he might be seeing. “Sure,” he says. “Mine, though. Pundit hates when I don’t come home.”_ _

__Tommy follows Lovett out, not quite sure what’s the appropriate amount to touch him now. Lovett’s busting through the crowd even more brashly than normal, only looking back to check Tommy’s following him once._ _

__***_ _

__Tommy tips their Lyft driver and slides out of the car. Lovett’s already at his front door, watching Tommy. Favs’ house next door is dark, but visible in the ambient light pollution of LA. Lovett’s opening up the door when Tommy gets there, and two very excited dogs are bursting up at them. Tommy drops to his knees, cradling Leo and Pundit in turn, petting their bellies and letting them lick the sweat off his arms. They make happy little barks when he croons, “Hey Pundit, hey Leo,” their paws pitter-pattering on the floor._ _

__He really needs to get a dog, probably._ _

__“Do you want a beer?” Lovett calls from the kitchen._ _

__Tommy’s still pretty drunk, from alcohol, from being dumber in public than he’s been probably ever, from Lovett looking at him like he wanted to devour him, so he just calls back, “No thanks.”_ _

__Lovett comes in with a Miller Lite, but stands several feet away from where Tommy’s in a pile on the floor with the dogs. He’s hovering a little awkwardly, leaning against his entry-way table that’s covered in dumb baseball hats and sunglasses and single dollar bills. Pundit runs towards him, and he picks her up. He looks like a college kid right now, sipping his shitty beer in his favorite new sneakers, and Tommy has a sudden, weird stab of tenderness for that kid, going to do stand-up because he likes the feeling of making people laugh, loud and ridiculous and fresh off some thesis that Tommy would literally never be able to understand even the barest bones of. “I forgot you were dogsitting for Leo,” Tommy says, because the silence is unnerving him._ _

__“Yeah,” Lovett says. “I’m a saint, you know, all in a day’s work. You really just need a fucking dog, you know.”_ _

__“I know,” Tommy says. It’s not all he needs, but he knows. He stands up and walks towards him, ignoring Leo bounding along with him. He cups Lovett’s face in his hand, tilts his chin up, and kisses him with everything he can. Lovett’s still holding Pundit, but he kisses back, bitey and sharp but with something underneath it. Pundit starts barking, and Tommy lets go of Lovett’s face, takes Pundit out of his hands and puts her on the ground, where she and Leo run off._ _

__“Bed?” Lovett asks, and Tommy nods._ _

__He trails him towards the bedroom, noticing the flowers on his coffee table, the framed photos hanging in the hallway, the pile of Vans mixed up with Pundit’s toys. It feels like a home, lived in and messy, not like Tommy’s blank house._ _

__“My room’s a mess,” Lovett warns Tommy at the door to his bedroom, fiddling with the doorknob._ _

__Tommy presses him up against the door and slides in between his legs. “I don’t fucking care,” he promises Lovett, and kisses him again. It’s only been half an hour since they stopped kissing at the club, only been two minutes since they kissed in the hall, but Tommy already misses the feel of his mouth and the soft noise he makes when Tommy nips at his bottom lip._ _

__He opens the door, still kissing Jon, a hand steadying his lower back so he won’t fall. He walks him over to the bed and presses him down. Jon rolls them over, knees settling on the sides of Tommy’s hips, hands planted on Tommy’s chest, leaning just out of reach for a kiss. “I can’t believe you wore this fucking shirt,” he complains. “Everyone could see your“—he slides his hand up, tweaking them through the fabric as Tommy’s breath catches—“nipples. All night.”_ _

__“You told me to wear my tightest shirt,” Tommy says, smiling too hard to make it sound like a complaint. Jon is totally focused on him, his weight grounding Tommy and keeping his thoughts tethered to just this moment, just this feeling. It’s a welcome relief for Tommy’s brain, which has been running overtime since — for a long time. Jon’s windows are open and Tommy can feel the breeze coming through them, the softness of his mattress, the warmth of Jon’s fingers._ _

__“I didn’t know it would be _that_ tight,” Jon says, pushing Tommy’s shirt off. Tommy lets him pull it off, then holds himself up to tug Jon’s shirt off. Tommy collapses back on the bed, shaking a little from the effort, and Jon says,“We get it, you have a strong core.” But he leans down for a messy kiss, and Tommy runs his hand up Jon’s back, savoring all this new bare skin. _ _

__Jon moves down his body, kissing his freckles, gripping his hips tight. The only sound in the room is their mixed breaths, and Tommy can’t tear his eyes away from Jon’s face, creased like it used to get for difficult speeches, carefully undoing the button and fly of Tommy’s jeans. Jon slides back as he pulls Tommy’s jeans and boxers off, Tommy arching to lift his hips up. Jon chucks them on the floor and slides down to Tommy’s dick, kneeling between his open legs. Tommy’s dick has been basically hard since he and Jon had started grinding, and it’s a relief for it to not be constricted by jeans, let alone to watch Jon, oh so slowly, lean down and open his mouth around the head. Fisting a hand in his hair by instinct, Tommy gasps, “Jesus Christ.”_ _

__Jon pulls off his dick theatrically, with a pop, and informs Tommy, “I’m Jewish, you know,” before getting back to work. Tommy huffs out a laugh and tugs a little on Jon’s curls._ _

__Tommy watches more and more of his dick disappear into Jon’s wide open mouth, feels it all over his body, feels it in his fucking toes. Jon moans pornographically around his dick, and Tommy tugs his curls a little. “No faking, show-off,” he says, and Jon makes a rough, raw sound, staring up at Tommy. It sounds realer, and Tommy rubs his thumb behind Jon’s ear._ _

__It feels so good, Tommy wants it to last forever, but he can feel himself getting close, and he wants to fuck Jon so badly. He wants Jon to ride his dick like he’d been riding his thigh, wants to spread him out and take him apart. He tugs Jon’s curls harder, pulling him off his dick. Jon lets Tommy’s dick rest on his lower lip as he says, “What?”_ _

__“I wanna fuck you,” Tommy tells him, flushing at the words but not looking away._ _

__Jon looks a little floored, so Tommy reaches down to his shoulder, tugs him up so he can kiss him again. Jon’s dick is still hard in his fucking pants, and Tommy pops the button impatiently, drags his jeans and boxers down, stares at his dick for a second. Jon rubs it against Tommy’s hip, groaning when Tommy grabs his ass and shifts the angle a little bit._ _

__“Lube and condoms in the drawer,” Jon tells him. Tommy flips them over and leans over Jon to get to the bedside drawer. There’s something that might be a dildo, farther back in the drawer, and it’s so hot Tommy might die if he thinks about it any longer. Instead he turns back to Jon, settles between his thighs. He’s about to grab a pillow to tuck underneath Jon’s hips when Jon flips over, gets on his hand and knees, looks back at Tommy._ _

__Swallowing, Tommy takes in the scene in front of him. Jon’s ass looks so good, his thighs are so nice and pale and meaty. He’d rather look at Jon’s face, but if this is what Jon wants to give him, he’s gonna take it. When Tommy leans in and bites his inner thigh, intent on leaving at least one mark, Jon kicks his foot, involuntary, and spreads his legs wider. Tommy slicks up his fingers and strokes one hand over Jon’s ass, watching the muscles shifting below his skin. Pressing one finger to Jon’s rim, he watches Jon’s spine shudder through a shaky breath before slowly, carefully, pressing in. The breath Jon lets out sounds like it got punched out of him, and Tommy curves his finger, carefully, seeing how Jon responds._ _

__Jon shoves back on him, trying to get more, and Tommy tells him, “Jon, stay still.” Jon shivers, all over, but then he stills, panting. Tommy slides another finger into him, crooks his finger again, fucks in and out._ _

__The moonlight casts a broad stripe of light across Lovett’s back, and Tommy thinks about his face in the moonlight by the Atlantic, after Favs’ wedding reception. Tommy wanted something so badly right then, a wave of yearning that made it hard to look at Jon’s face in the moonlight, the combination of hope and desperation and aching buried dreams too much for him to confront head-on._ _

__Tommy slips another finger in, and Jon holds himself back from moving, locking his muscles for a second before relaxing. Tommy kisses a _thank you_ into the lowest knob of his spine, working his fingers in more. Jon starts chanting, a barely audible “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” and Tommy takes his fingers out, shakily opens the condom, and rolls it on._ _

__He lines himself up, pausing for just a second before he pushes in to take in the sight, Jon’s thighs spread and his arms shaking. When he pushes in, he can’t breathe, can’t think, can only move steadily, pausing when Jon makes a noise Tommy can’t quite decipher. Jon’s hand is fisted into the sheets, pulling it off the edge of the mattress, and he lets out a long breath and shifts back, and Tommy keeps pressing in._ _

__Suddenly, Tommy is desperate for more contact, plasters himself to Jon’s back. He keeps one hand steady on the bed for leverage, but he runs the other up and down Jon’s chest from neck to hips, pressing him back against Tommy. He fucks him steadily, finding the rhythm, the angle, the depth that makes Jon whine the most. Jon’s fully shaking now, biceps wavering from the effort of holding him up, and Tommy guides him to his elbows, kisses the corner of Jon’s mouth when he presses the side of his face against the pillow._ _

__Tommy slides his hand down, finally touching Jon’s dick. “Fu- _uck,_ Tommy,” Jon gasps out when Tommy clumsily fists him, runs his thumb over the head. Jon’s hips stutter, like he’s not sure whether to go forwards or backwards, and Tommy bites down on his shoulder._ _

__“You’re so good,” Tommy babbles, unable to hold it in. “Feel so good, fuck, babe, look so good.” Jon whines and pushes back, and Tommy jerks him off faster, wanting him to come. Turning his head more to Tommy, Jon opens his mouth, and Tommy kisses him, feeling the gasp when he comes against his mouth._ _

__Tommy keeps jerking him off, more slowly, unable to stop himself from making Jon shake under him. Jon squirms, eventually, and lets out a shaky laugh, saying, “God, Tommy, please.” Tommy lets him go. Lovett’s fully collapsed on the bed now, and Tommy slides out, just for a second, flips him over so he can slide back in. Jon looks unbelievable, belly covered in come, cheeks flushed, eyes dark, mouth red._ _

__Tommy swallows, rubs a finger through the come on Lovett’s belly. He sees a red mark from where Tommy bit his shoulder, and, wow, that was a lot closer to his neck than he meant it to be. Pressing down, Tommy says, “Oopsie Doopsie,” in Jon’s fucking Seb Gorka voice that he hasn’t been able to stop doing. Jon laughs, bright and surprised and delighted, and Tommy can feel it on his dick._ _

__“Oopsie Doopsie, I’ve joined a gay sex groupie!” Jon says, fucking doing the hand gestures, and Tommy laughs helplessly._ _

__“Obama NSC Spokesman gay now…Does it have SOMETHING to do with the TRUMP AUTOCRACY? Is this another flight of the IMPEACHMENT EAGLE?” Jon hams it up with his fucking Liberal Rush Limbaugh voice, and Tommy cracks up, collapsing into Jon’s neck, shaking with laughter._ _

__He laughs until Jon starts moving his hips back onto Tommy’s dick, and then starts fucking him again, long and lazy, giggling whenever Jon breathes audibly like Liberal Rush Limbaugh. Just as Tommy starts to lose control, Jon does another fucking “Oopsie Doopsie,” and Tommy starts laughing as he comes, completely overwhelmed. Jon is just always so fucking much, and Tommy wants it all._ _

__He’s still laughing through the aftershocks, and Jon’s all grabby hands, stroking up and down his back, letting Tommy’s probably-uncomfortable limp body rest on his. Tommy eventually pulls out, ties the condom off. He’s gonna get up to deal with it, but Jon says, “You’re an athlete, you can make a fucking trash can shot. Just pretend it’s a lax ball or whatever the hell you call those things.”_ _

__Tommy does, and they both cheer when it bounces off the rim into the trashcan. Tommy lies back down, tugging Lovett on top of him so they can move away from the wet spot. Lovett grabs Tommy’s white t-shirt off the floor and wipes them both off. “It’s basically a rag already,” he asserts, jutting his chin out, and Tommy just kisses him again, so past caring about his fucking t-shirt._ _

__“Thanks for inviting me out,” Tommy says, ruffling the stillness of the room, one hand on Jon’s lower back._ _

__“Thanks for fucking me,” Jon says. “Hope it was an effective rebound. I have high marks in that field. You’re welcome for not making you have to find someone new to like and want to spend time with.”_ _

__Tommy feels, just a little, like he got punched in the gut. “It wasn’t a rebound,” he says, looking at Jon, whose eyes are defiantly closed._ _

__“Sure,” Jon says._ _

__“It _wasn’t,”_ Tommy insists. “I just—”_ _

__“Wanted to fuck someone?” Jon offers._ _

__“Wanted to fuck _you_ ,” Tommy says._ _

__Jon’s quiet for a second. “Okay,” he allows, sounding a little exhausted._ _

__Tommy’s not sure where everything went so wrong, but Jon is feeling shitty about himself, like he did when guys left too early in the morning in DC and Jon had to pretend he wanted them to. Tommy spent too much time then promising himself he’d never let Jon feel like that if he got the chance to fuck him to let it go now._ _

__“I don’t think it counts as a rebound if you’ve been thinking about it since before your last relationship started,” he admits._ _

__Jon’s eyes open at that, finally. “You have not,” he says, flatly._ _

__“I’ve been thinking about it since the first time you brought someone home to our apartment. I mean, probably before then, but it was hard to deny it after I was that fucking jealous,” Tommy tells him. He’s looking up at Jon’s bedroom ceiling, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to breathe steadily. In-hold-out, in-hold-out._ _

__Jon rolls onto him, elbows digging into Tommy’s chest. “What the fuck,” he demands. “You had a _girlfriend.”__ _

__“After you left,” Tommy says._ _

__Jon keeps digging his elbows in, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t yell at Tommy, doesn’t tell him to leave._ _

__“Did it meet expectations?” he asks, finally._ _

__Tommy laughs, giddy with terror. “Beyond my wildest dreams,” he says._ _

__“Minus five points for cliches,” Jon tells him._ _

__“You’re such a fucking monster,” Tommy tells him. “Do you — it was amazing, for me. I never though Liberal Rush Limbaugh would be involved, but that just made it better.”_ _

__Jon laughs and kisses him. “Cool,” he says, but he’s smiling._ _

__“Do you want to help me pick out a dog tomorrow?” Tommy asks. “Maybe bring Pundit, make sure she likes them.”_ _

__“Yeah, sure,” Jon says. “Pundit has great taste. I mean, she likes you best, so.”_ _

__Tommy feels, for the first time in LA, completely settled._ _

**Author's Note:**

> i'm [here](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/veryspecificfantasies) on tumblr, screaming, as always.


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